


I'll Be With You (as soon as the opportunity arrises)

by Eivilduccy



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Grief, I made myself cry with this, Johnlock - Freeform, Sad, Sad Ending, The Great Game, im sorry, sherlock is so helpless, tw: death, tw: depression, tw: suicidal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:52:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1771438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eivilduccy/pseuds/Eivilduccy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if John had died that night at the pool?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be With You (as soon as the opportunity arrises)

John.' The words slipped out of his shaking lips. Stood in front of him was John, his John, wrapped in a bulky coat with the wires that belonged to a bomb not completely covered.

The words he spoke were not his own. He was being forced to say them just like all the other puppets Moriarty had claimed.  
His words were registered, of course, a good detective never ignored a clue but no attention was paid to them. Sherlock listened to the message John was giving him with his body.  
'I'm sorry. There's nothing you can do. I love you.'

This was such a cruel way to end it, perhaps that's why it was happening. There was no goodbye. The last time Sherlock would hear his voice would be when he was speaking these fake words and Sherlock wouldn't be able to tell him that he- he cared about him. Sherlock would go crazy, not knowing, there would be nothing left to analyze. John would be gone and Sherlock would never understand their relationship. That was Moriarty's plan all along, to destroy Sherlock using his own mind, his own feelings of grief would tear him apart.

Sherlock knew that but, for a moment, it wasn't about him. It was about John. His eyes were locked on John, waiting for something, anything to happen. John had finished talking and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to run to him and rip that fatal jacket off his body. He wanted to hold him until he fell asleep and forgot what was happening, but that was not possible.

'Time's up Sherlock.' A harsh voice spoke as Moriarty entered from the door on the opposite side of the pool.

Sherlock had never been one for sentiment, so the manic leaping of his heart made no sense, and the glassy quality to his vision left him confused. He closed his eyes, trying to wrack his brain for any kind of solution but as a single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, his mind went blank. There was one though swirling round and round.

'John. John. John'

'Are you pleased with yourself Sherlock? This is your fault you know. You brought him into all of this.'

'No Sherlock. It's not your fault.'

His eyes snapped open as he registered John's words.  
'It's my fault.' He muttered quietly.

'Damn it Sherlock! Why don't you ever listen? It's not your fault.' John cried.

'Enough chit chat. This wasn't meant to be-what's the word? Sentimental.'

'Sherlock? Sherlock look at me. Just look at me.' John uttered desperately. Sherlock obeyed and kept his eyes locked on him. He desperately committed everything about John to his memory. The way his chin was lightly dusted with stubble, the way his eyes filled with concern every time he looked at Sherlock, the shape his lips would form as he spoke his name. Maybe he could imagine the way he would look saying 'I love you, Sherlock.'

Suddenly a bang filled the room and Sherlock was thrown backwards violently. A large ball of fire engulfed the area that John once stood. His head was spinning and his vision was going patchy. The last thing he felt before his world went black was the dampness of his cheeks and bitter tears overflew.

 

Sherlock slowly became aware of the darkness that he was seeing. As he opened his eyes he was also becoming aware of an empty feeling occupying his chest. After staring at the scene that was before him it took a mere second for him to deduce the cause; heart missing. John took it with him when he died. He closed his eyes again and tried to sink back into the never ending darkness but before he could an irritating paramedic jostled him into complete consciousness.

 

On the way to the hospital Sherlock refused to open his eyes, terrified that he would lose the last image of John that he had.

It didn't hurt as much as Sherlock thought it would. Then again grief is not felt by the mind but felt by the heart that Sherlock was now lacking. One day this misery would lift and then the sharp reality would pierce him.

He received the slightest wave of comfort knowing that his former dealer was still just a phone call away and if Sherlock ever ran out of money to pay him then he would be happy to shoot Sherlock and put him out of his John induced misery.

That was the moment Sherlock lost hope, entirely.

 

There was his John, standing right in front of his with an angelic smile on his face.

'Oh John I've missed you.'

'I know Sherlock.'

'Have you missed me too?'

'Of course I have, Sherlock. I love you.'

'I love you too John. I'm sorry I never told you but I was afraid.

'Afraid of what?'

'I don't know. This just hasn't happened to me before. It's okay now though, isn't it? We can just be together now.'

'No we can't.'

'What?'

'I died. Remember? It was your fault, Sherlock.'

With that they were back at the pool and Sherlock relived the moment his best friend, his only love, his living, breathing John was turned into scattered remnants on a crime scene.

 

He awoke with a start, sitting up quickly and scanning the room. He was lying on the sofa in his flat. John was dead and Sherlock was only dreaming again.

'Sherlock. Is everything alright? You were shouting in your sleep.'

'Mrs Hudson please, leave.'

'But Sherlock, dear-'

'Mrs Hudson! Leave immediately!'

She stood for a moment at Sherlock's doorway staring at the miserable mess this brilliant man had become. Slowly she walked over to stroke his tangled mop of curls and place a motherly kiss on his temple.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, letting another tear drip down his face and onto the soaked pillow that lay beneath his head. With one final sigh the caring woman turned away regretfully and made her retreat downstairs.

The faint sound of the door clicking shut was the trigger to his walls breaking down. Every ounce of emotion that he had stored up inside of him, to try and keep a hold of his sanity, was let out all at once.

Silent tears flooded down his face as pain twisted his face into a picture of agony. A strangled cry escaped and he held his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sounds of distress. His chest was heaving with effort as he tried to keep his pain silent but soon enough he was releasing deep, throaty sobs and wheezy gasps as he desperately tried to breathe through his tears.

It felt like a weight has crushing his chest and he was sure that his lungs would burst if he carried on. He let go of all inhibitions and let loud, hopeless wails escape him as all of the sadness poured out of him.

'Sherlock! Sherlock!'

'Leave me be Mrs Hudson. Just leave me be.' He cried like a madman.

'Sherlock you need to breathe. You must calm down or you will hurt yourself.'

'Let me Mrs Hudson. Let me suffocate it would be less painful. Just leave me here to die.' He half muttered, half screamed.

She sat with Sherlock and pulled his head into her lap, stroking her gentle fingers through his hair. She whispered soft words of comfort into his ear, the way a mother would calm her frightened child after he had a nightmare. Sherlock's existence was like a nightmare now.

Patiently, she waited until Sherlock's cries of 'I want my John' and 'Let me be with him' had subsided before fetching him a glass of water and a blanket. She guided him to lie on the sofa and he obeyed, completely pliant to her gentle hands, letting the blanket be wrapped around his aching body.

'Now Sherlock, you go to sleep. It will be alright. I will check on you in the morning. Go to sleep now, love.'

She caressed his hand once more before petting his head and walking away, turning the light out and shutting the door as she left.

Sherlock stared at the ceiling for a moment longer before closing his eyes and finally welcoming the calmness of sleep.

 

Sherlock woke up the next working with puffy eyes, a raw throat and a pounding in his head. He felt like an alcaholic after a particularly bad night, although his poison was not alcohol but sorrow. He'd had his dramatic meltdown, his desperate cry for help yet his remedy was still lacking. Now, instead of an ingenious solution and unending joy that always happened in those ridiculous films John used to watch, he was left with a sort of faint nothingness. It was like his body and mind were on autopilot. Maybe that was how everybody else was coping, but it didn't seem that way. They seemed too animated whilst Sherlock's mind was still to vacant and his eyes were still lifeless.

 

Another puff of smoke swirled through the already thick, dirty air. A cocktail of nicotine and alcohol swum through his veins, making his thoughts fleeting hazy. That was exactly how he liked them. It softened the constant stab of guilt felt that was ever expanding like the universe.

A sharp ring from the doorbell cut through his drug induced haze but Sherlock simply ignored it. After the third ring he wondered how many more there would be before he would bother to put some ear plugs in his ears. Probably a while, they were lying on the coffee table, just out of his reach. Sherlock grabbed the nearest hard item to him, a paper weight, and threw it at the offending ear plugs. The paper weight crashed onto the table and knocked them off with a loud crash. 'Stupid things.' He thought bitterly, 'They deserve it.'

It wasn't usually like him to be impulsive and reckless. It wasn't usually like him to be mindlessly destructive but he wasn't his usual self, he hadn't been since that night. When John had died that night, a little bit of Sherlock had been taken with him. The only last inkling of hope he had was that if he kept things up at this rate, and he saw no reason not to, then it wouldn't be long until he joined John.

A few moments after his incident with the earplugs the rings at the doorbell stopped, but footsteps began to creep up the stairs. Sherlock sighed wearily and rolled his eyes. He thought he made it clear to Mrs Hudson that any guests for him would be unwelcome unless, by miracle, it was John turning up to proclaim that he wasn't dead. Instead of the short, blonde man that Sherlock was yearning for Inspector Lestrade strode through the door, chocking slightly on the sooty air.

'Sherlock we need your help.'

'I'm busy.'

'Doing what? You don't have a case.'

'I'm doing an experiment.'

'This doesn't look like an experiment.'

'I'm trying to see the amount of toxins a person can endure before dying.'

'Sherlock. Look I understand. You're grieving and you don't know much about these emotions but you can't be stupid enough to do this!'

'I was stupid enough to get him killed. I'm stupid enough to do this.'

'It wasn't yo-'

'Yes it was!' He bellowed. He furiously stood up and walked stiffly over to where Lestrade was stood in his living room. He stood, towering over the man and staring down at him.

'It was my fault and if you're going to deny that then you can shut up and leave me be.'

'Sherlock I-'

He let out a bitter laugh and turned away from the inspector. He went to lay on the sofa again, facing the ceiling and bringing the cigarette back to his lips.

'What if John was here? He wouldn't want you to destroy yourself like this.'

'Well he's not here so that doesn't matter. Does it?' He hissed sharply

'It does matter. It's the only thing that matters. You loved him- yes you did, so you can't let this break you. Surely you should keep on going, if not for yourself then for John.'

Sherlock continued to stare bitterly at the wall and exhale more smoke into the room. This conversation was making the pain worse and soon he would require a stronger relief.

'You're not going to listen to me, are you?'

'When have I ever listened to you?' Lestrade stared at the floor before composing himself and turning towards the door.

'Be safe Sherlock.' He muttered before walking out and shutting the door quietly.

'No promises.'

 

'John?' His voice wavered with desperate confusion whilst the other man's face was light with amusement.

'Yes, you daft sod. It's me.'

'Did I make it?'

'I think you might have.' The other chuckled and pulled Sherlock into a crushing embrace.

'I can stay with you here?'

John pulled away slightly so that he could rest his forehead against Sherlock's. With a loving gaze he muttered,

'Forever.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned forward, expecting his lips to be met by the soft haven of John's but he only felt a rush of cold air. His eyes snapped open just in time to see John bolt around a corner. A shot of panic fueled by desperation sent Sherlock darting after him.

'Run Sherlock. They're coming!' John called breathlessly.

Shouts of his name were coming from behind him as the voices get closer. John's form got further and further away until it was clear Sherlock would not get to him.

'Please, Sherlock. You can't leave me here. This is your fault!' John shouted across the distance as the voices overwhelmed the great detective.

 

Greg's voice sounded relieved as Sherlock stirred and opened his eyes. The bright lights of a hospital brought him back to a harsh reality.

_' Overdose failed, will try again as soon as the opportunity arises.'_


End file.
